Love With The Holmes Brothers
by PsychicDreams
Summary: A long series of oneshot vignettes in the Treatment series about Sherlock and John, and Mycroft and Lestrade. [M for possible later chapters]


Mycroft stared at the frozen image on his screen and he wondered why he had been annoyed at himself how long ago now when Sherlock had been jealous. He could feel nothing beyond the absolute anger and pure, overriding jealousy. That…woman…had her hand on _his_ Gregory's arm. His fingers tightened into fists, the only outward sign of his emotions and he was glad he was alone and there was no one to see.

His relationship with the Detective Inspector was still very new, barely a month old, and he was writing internally over what he was seeing. It was too new, it couldn't stand up to the uncertainties could it? This was _different_ from Sherlock and John. Sherlock was an idiot; John was absolutely and utterly _enamored_ of his younger brother and it was painfully and glaringly obvious. Besides, Sherlock had been absolutely sure that John loved him, he'd only been annoyed and jealous that someone else had dared tease him about John making a good couple with whoever it was.

Greg was different. He was charming, personable, and devastatingly handsome in a rough-and-tumble kind of way. He wasn't enamored with Mycroft the way that John was with Sherlock. He'd said the words 'I love you', but how could he believe that wholeheartedly when… His thoughts swung from insecurity back to anger. How dare his ex-wife dare come back even for a single conversation, when the detective inspector was his! She had _no _idea who she was going up against.

No, she clearly didn't and he was going make it clear. Eyes narrowing, he picked up the phone on his desk. "Anthea."

"Yes, sir?"

"Clear some time in my schedule right now."

"For how long, sir?"

"That is undetermined. It should be, at minimum, several hours free."

"Yes, sir." There was a hesitance in her tone before she asked, "Is there something wrong, sir?"

"No," he lied and hung up, only quickly grab his mobile and hit speed-dial for a very specific number.

"What do you want, Mycroft?"

Mycroft stood up and straightened his waistcoat even though it was impeccable. "Gregory's ex-wife has returned."

There was a moment of silence and efficiently multitasking, Mycroft pulled on his jacket and glanced in the mirror, deciding to shift his tie just a little so that it was perfect. "If you're calling me, you want me to _do something_," he said in annoyance after a moment.

"They are in his office at the precinct. Please go there and _chaperone_ until I arrive."

"Don't do anything stupid, Mycroft. Lestrade loves you."

"I'm aware of that. However," He pulled back his phone and texted the image to his brother before continuing, "I do believe that her touch appears _proprietary_, don't you think?" A sound of steel came to his voice, the same one that he always had when someone threatened his brother, and Sherlock knew the sound well and how serious he was. "No one is allowed to touch Gregory without my permission, with you and John as exceptions."

"…Fine, we're going, but hurry up." There was a distinct sound of displeasure in his tone, both in annoyance at Mycroft and at the image he had seen.

Mycroft hung up and decided that this suit wouldn't do. If he was going to impress upon her that she had crossed the wrong man, there was only _one_ suit that would fit. He turned and stepped out of his office. "Anthea, we must return to my house for a moment."

-0-

"Is this really necessary, Sherlock?"

He glanced at his lover as they headed down the hall toward Lestrade's office. "Mycroft says it is."

"Since when do you do what Mycroft wants you too? It's just his ex-wife, they were divorced two years ago and—"

"They were married for years, John, and that is a long time to erase. It's possible, as he took her back at least once, that he might choose to do so again. Also, Lestrade is so easy to manipulate, she might just convince him to do that."

John stared at him as if he'd lost his mind. "Neither of you give Greg any credit, do you? He's not going to get back together with her! He told me he'd rather crawl over hot coals with no clothes on than go back to her."

They had reached Lestrade's door and Sherlock stalked in without responding. The two in deep discussion snapped their heads up and it was only a small blessing that Sarah Jean didn't have her hand on the detective's arm anymore. "Sherlock, what are you doing here?"

"Sherlock? That consulting detective?"

He ignored the demand from Lestrade, and the stupid comment from his ex-wife, and stalked over. "I need a case, Lestrade."

"But…I don't have anything for you," Lestrade stuttered, clearly confused and glancing at John for help.

Sherlock snatched up a folder from the side of the desk, looked at it, and tossed it violently back on the desk as he noted the woman had reached for something on the desk, or to touch Lestrade, he wasn't sure. There was only a two percent chance it was the latter, but always best to stop it regardless. "Pedestrian," he spat, meeting the man's eyes and trying as fiercely as he could to make it clear without words that Mycroft was upset.

Something seemed to click in his brain. "Sherlock—"

"Too late," he whispered as the door opened.

-0-

Despite his urge to, Mycroft didn't throw the door open. Instead he calmly opened it as if it were his own office and he owned the place. Lestrade's eyes snapped to him and his mouth seemed to unhinge a bit. Inwardly, with a part that was raging with jealousy and righteous fury, Mycroft smirked. The black, pinstripe suit with shockingly red tie and crisp white shirt never failed to make the right impression. He idly moved the umbrella in his hand and then closed the door in the silence of his entrance.

"Uh…M—"

"We can talk later, Greg, if you're busy all of a sudden."

He could hear the confusion in the woman's voice, the woman he refused to even use the name of in his head, but he wasn't about to let them talk later. They wouldn't talk again. Period. "That won't be necessary," he assured her, feeling Sherlock's complicated gaze on him. "I will not take up much of your time."

"…My time?"

Mycroft was the picture of casual as he made his way to the side of Greg's desk, head held high. There was a slight bit of heat amid the confusion in his lover's eyes, and he pulled on all his previous experience of dealing with both heads of state and unpleasant drug dealers. He could see that he was intimidating her by the way her eyes moved, the way her fingers twitched as she resisted the urge to rub them up and down her thighs to dispel her nerves.

"Yes, I'm here to see you."

"Hey, M—" This time Greg's voice was silenced, he noted, by a touch of Sherlock to his shoulder. He would thank his brother later. John was looking particularly annoyed at both the brothers, but he would leave that fallout for someone that wasn't him.

"My name is Mycroft Holmes." Her eyes flickered to Sherlock. "Yes, indeed, we are related." He lifted his umbrella, briefly examined the tip in a way that he knew made almost everyone nervous, and looked back at him.

"Oh. Are you a detective too?"

He gave a mirthless smile. "Oh no. I occupy merely a minor position in the British government. It is through our work and my brother that Gregory and I met, you see, and we've become…very close. So in this vein, I would like to request that you cease any contact with him in the future."

"Mycroft!" Lestrade burst out in anger, ignoring Sherlock's sharp glare to be quiet.

Mycroft braced both hands on top of his umbrella, placed the tip against the floor, and leaned forward over her. He wanted to drive his point home and if his eyes were a bit menacing, he couldn't help it. "Gregory is _mine_. You were a fool to treat him as you did, and an even bigger fool to leave him. Do not compound your mistakes by making me an enemy. I assure you that would be your greatest misstep of all."

"That's enough!"

He leaned back, suitably assured that his point had been made. Just by looking at him, he could tell his lover was angry with him and he felt a stab of guilt, but the irrational jealousy was still there and he understood what it must be like for Sherlock, to want to possess John so acutely. The difference between them was that Sherlock would stand in front of John to prevent them others from coming close, and Mycroft could only belatedly realize that he was the type to pull Greg back from behind. They were entirely of different mindsets and it seemed as if it made all the difference in the world. He had never seen John look as angry at Sherlock as Greg was looking at him.

"That's fucking enough! What the hell is all that about, Mycroft?! I'll decide if I want to talk to my ex-wife! For your information, Sarah's _married again_ and she was asking me to be the _godfather_ of her _newborn baby_!"

Mycroft blinked and then a surge of shameful embarrassment flooded through him, only to be beaten back with another irrational surge of jealousy, internally arguing that just because she was married didn't mean she didn't have ulterior motives. She had happily been sleeping with other men while she'd been married to Greg! Instead, he reached into his jacket and pulled out a printed picture of that still, tossing it on the desk in front of his lover. "She touched you, Gregory. That is unacceptable. It was too familiar."

"She's my ex-wife, you git! There's a ton of history between us, but that doesn't mean she wants me like that again and it doesn't mean I want her like that!" Lestrade rubbed his forehead. "Everybody but Mycroft out. Sarah, I'll call you later with my decision, all right?"

The woman glanced at him, but nodded and hurried out as quickly as her feet would carry her. John followed, looking sharply at Sherlock as if to say 'get moving'. Sherlock passed by him, but paused and whispered, "People are so dull, they don't understand." It was the closest thing to encouragement he had ever heard from his little brother and he thanked John's influence that had helped him grow up a little.

When they were alone, Greg walked around the desk to in front of him. "Mycroft…"

He knew he had made a mistake, but because he didn't know how to fix it, Mycroft retreated internally behind all his walls. His face was blank, refusing to let emotions come through. One hand slid into his pocket while the other remained holding onto the handle of his umbrella. He hoped he looked as calm as he usually did, because inside he was a mess.

The detective leaned back against the desk and reached out, tugging Mycroft closer by his jacket until he was standing between the 'v' of his legs. "…You were jealous, huh?" He said nothing, but Greg didn't seem to expect him to respond. "Sherlock tried to warn me that I screwed up, but there wasn't enough time. I fail to see how it was _my_ screw-up when it was your own fault you bugged my office again. Before you and Sherlock barged in, I would have told her I needed to think about it, came over to your place after work, and _talked with you about it_. You didn't have to go 'Wrath of God' on her."

Mycroft's eyes slid away, but Greg tugged him down to share a soft kiss. "I love you, Mycroft Holmes, and I'm honestly, one hundred percent flattered you were jealous over me. It's probably another first for me."

He growled as that hand was twining in his tie, pulling him down for another kiss, and another. "Gregory, don't tempt me," he hissed. "I would have you here and now, and would be none too gentle."

"Why?"

That whispered word wasn't so much because he seemed he didn't know, but that he wanted Mycroft to tell him how he felt. The last thing he wanted to do was that when he was feeling so raw, so exposed.

"Please, Mycroft. Why?"

"Because I can barely contain my urge to possess you," he finally said in an almost Sherlock-like resentment at doing something he didn't want to do. "When I saw the image of her touching your arm, all of my thoughts stopped. It was the most crushing feeling I had, followed by rage. I'm still very angry with you, Gregory, that you allowed her to touch you. You belong to me, and the only others I have deemed fit to touch you besides myself are Sherlock and John. How dare that woman, who is singularly unworthy of you, touch what belongs to me. Your mind, your heart, and most notably your flesh, have my name on them. I put it there nightly when I hold you. I _must_ have all of you."

He didn't even realize he was doing it until he noticed that he'd slowly used his presence to push Lestrade back on the desk and he was over top him. Somewhere along the way he'd dropped his umbrella on the floor. Taking a shaky breath, Mycroft tried to center himself. "I did warn you that this would not be easy. As Sherlock would say, I _am_ a controlling bastard."

"Yeah, but you're my controlling bastard," Greg said with a smile and he knew he was forgiven then. "You don't have to be jealous, but it gives my ego a boost to know that you are. And you know, it's okay. I don't mind if you're 'none too gentle' with me. You've got time?"

"…Yes," he whispered and decided he could thank Sherlock later. Right then, he was occupied, and so was Greg Lestrade's desk.


End file.
